


a rose in winter

by hermionewrites



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, Gen, Whether She Likes It or Not, and rosie will make friends, but as the author let me assure you, in which phryne just wants to pass the bechdel test, it is gay, the gay is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermionewrites/pseuds/hermionewrites
Summary: In the aftermath, Rosie receives an unexpected invitation.
Relationships: Elizabeth MacMillan/Rosie Sanderson, Phryne Fisher & Elizabeth MacMillan, Phryne Fisher & Rosie Sanderson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson (implied)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 95





	a rose in winter

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this as a random idea before a writing sprint because I was thinking about all my thoughts about Rosie... now it is my longest finished fic ever... no regrets.

One thing Rosie hadn't expected was the amount of letters she got.

Actually, to say there was one thing she didn't expect would imply she had any expectations. That she had considered this situation at all. What woman sees her life going this way. Married, then divorced, engaged, then separated due to irreconcilable differences. She almost snorted at that. Irreconcilable differences. 

She imagined herself mentioning her reasons for 'separation' the same way the high society ladies complained about their husbands' bad habits. I simply cannot abide it, she would say, Sidney just insists on selling innocent young girls. She felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up at the horrific absurdity of these abominations in this familiar setting. But then, as if that wasn't exactly where it had been happening, just out of earshot. As if that wasn't exactly what was being whispered around these women right now. She shook herself back to the present.

The letters. Also unexpected. They weren't the friendly correspondence that had been growing back as people began to forget the scandal of her divorce ('from a perfectly respectable man!' people had whispered, incredulous at her greed for something more). 

They were formal. From companies and societies, statements and polite dismissals and cancellations, the life she had planned tumbling down around her in a flurry of paper. 

So when she got the invitation, she almost didn't read it. Almost placed it on the growing pile of 'promise to look at later'. (She had never been one to leave things for later). But something about the hand inked script on the front intrigued her, standing out among the pile. So she opened it up.

It was written on paper far more expensive than what those other senders had deigned to waste on her disgrace this was… an invitation. The words and their smooth handwriting were a stark contrast to the sharp edged script of the piled up letters, the prickly words from hostile people, jabbing at her conscious and warding her and her scandal away from the senders. 

But the sender of this letter was scandal herself, in her own way. Rosie found herself letting out a bitter laugh at the comparison. The two of them, unmarried, 'scandalous' women. In the same boat. Except they weren't. While scandal had pushed Rosie out into the cold, Miss Fisher wrapped it around herself like one of her expensive fur coats, reveling in it, seeking it out. Perhaps that's why she had sent this invitation. 

Perhaps that's why Rosie should ignore it. She couldn't imagine anything Miss Fisher had to say would be anything she wished to hear. She felt a childish urge to curl up, her hands over her ears, blocking out the world and everything it had to say about her through those people whose name she had shared, or almost shared. 

She wondered which part of her this invitation was extended to. Miss Sanderson, as she was, the daughter of the corrupt father? Mrs Fletcher, as she was to be, fiance of the villain? Or even Mrs Robinson, as she had been, the ex wife of a hero? She wasn't sure which would be worse. 

But she also, as evidenced by the dearth of friendly letters, had absolutely nowhere else to be. She neither had the pieces to build an excuse not to make an appearance, nor, frankly, any other option to satiate her need for some kind of company. Her sister and her family (and her entirely intact and respectable marriage) had taken an extended trip to avoid all of this and she had even given Mrs Blunt extended leave. She was all alone. 

Even her childhood home, the place she had always felt safe, surrounded by the warmth of her family, her faith in her father, felt foreign. Now everywhere she looked she wondered how long this had been going on, whether this memory, this part of her happiness, was built on a lie too. Some pitiful part of her wondered if any moments of joy, even in her past, were uncorrupted. But Rosie was not pitiful.

So, she dug through her wardrobe for something appropriate. Even her clothes seemed to be determined to bring back memories, the hat she wore when she and Jack signed the papers, the scarf her father had bought her for a birthday, and worse, the new clothes, so many expensive beautiful clothes she had treasured when Sidney had given them to her. 

They had been symbols of the upward path her life was taking, her own version of the ranked police uniform as she achieved her own kind of ambitions, the ones that Jack had never shared. Some part of her whispered that perhaps those women had been right, saying she had been proud and greedy, asking for too much and bringing herself down. She had focused so much on the climb she hadn't noticed the hill was a cliff til she stepped off the edge. 

But she shook those maudlin thoughts away. She felt a rush of shame that it was her own situation she was focusing on. Perhaps if she’d noticed more she could have ended those girls’ suffering sooner, stopped others from ever being taken. But there was no use dwelling on what she could have done, Miss Fisher and Jack had saved the girls and that was what mattered now.

She was not going to Miss Fisher with the foolish idea she would outshine her. She wasn't sure anyone was capable of that. There was no point trying to be anything more or less than she was around Miss Fisher, and battered though she was, she was determined to retain what dignity she could with what was still within her control. 

So she pulled out an outfit she hadn't worn in a while. The coat she had bought on a whim after her divorce, caught up in the realisation, the plummeting feeling of no plans for the first time in years. It paled in comparison to the quality of things Sidney had bought her, but it was one of the only purely her things she owned. 

And so, for what felt like the first time since it all crashed down, she stepped out of her father's house, and into Melbourne, hailing a taxi ("Miss…?" "Just Rosie."), to Wardlow house. 

-

Rosie wasn't used to arriving alone. As she arrived at Miss Fisher's house, standing at her door for a moment, she remembered Sidney beside her there and realised how accustomed she was to… accompaniment. 

Almost as soon as her hand came away from the door it was thrown open. She expected to see a maid standing there, perhaps Miss Fisher's ever present companion, but instead she was confronted immediately by the sharp features and wide smile of Phryne Fisher. 

She took an involuntary half step back at the sheer strength of this woman's presence. Miss Fisher being her reintroduction to company after her semi-isolation felt rather like getting used to swimming by being dunked immediately into ice cold water. But nothing about Miss Fisher's presence was cold. She radiated warmth from her smile to the light yellow piece she wore over, Rosie noticed immediately, black trousers. 

She knew she was being ridiculous, but somehow her shame at the entirely non traditional path her life had taken was now coexisting alongside a slight embarrassment at her own, comparatively traditional, appearance. She was not an unfashionable woman, but even the coat she had been rather fond of felt a little drab next to Miss Fisher's fashionably modern everything. 

Perhaps she should have suffered the memories of one of the gorgeous things Sidney had bought. But she knew she could truly never have considered it. No judgment upon her fashion could be worse than her own judgement of herself if she had knowingly dressed herself in clothes paid for with the suffering of children. 

If Miss Fisher was passing the same judgement on Rosie's fashion choices, she was kind enough to hide it. 

"Rosie!" She exclaimed, as if they were old friends. Or, Rosie thought back to Jack stumbling over her name, what felt like forever ago, perhaps she simply didn't know how else to address her anymore. 

"Miss Fisher, thank you for the invitation." Rosie spoke cordially, cautiously, once more envying Miss Fisher's easy warmth. She had never been able to take that easily to other people, and she certainly wouldn't have done to someone who was… whoever she was now to Miss Fisher. 

Miss Fisher waved her thanks away as if the very idea of thanks being necessary was preposterous. "Not all, thank you for accepting. And I’m sure I’ve said, please, call me Phryne. Now, Mr Butler has prepared us a wonderful lunch in the parlour, so I do hope you haven't eaten yet."

Rosie could only shake her head, wondering if Mr Butler was a whimsical nickname. She would be entirely unsurprised if this woman had a butler actually called Butler. 

She was guided through to the parlour, which she had visited before. Some version of her had, anyway, Mrs Fletcher to be, with the confidence of new plans and new money. She missed the assurance she had had in her every step, the confidence in her words, the confidence to, she winced inwardly, be rather rude to Phryne Fisher in her own parlour. 

Rosie wasn't a jealous woman, she hadn't ever been, really. But she was very protective of those she cared about, and despite everything, she did care for Jack, and her ill advised comment towards Miss Fisher had been motivated by the same, unromantic reasons she presumed Jack had had for comforting her as she broke down in the police station. She didn't want to see him hurt. Not by the woman she had seen him gazing at at the footie game, whose house he seemed so comfortable in, who was infamous for her… affections. Rosie was not a woman particularly proficient at expressing her own feelings, and the kind of generosity Miss Fisher had with hers, no euphemism intended, was quite foreign to her. 

She sat down at the chair a kindly looking man in a dark suit, she presumed this must be Mr Butler, pulled out for her after taking her coat, which she felt an absurd urge to cling on to, and braced herself for a conversation as uncomfortable as the comment she had left here with, likely around the same topic. She sat rigidly, clamping down on her hands’ subconscious instinct to tap at the table. 

But, as she thought to herself ruefully later, she should have known better than to think she could ever anticipate Phryne Fisher. 

The man, Mr Butler, was speaking quietly to Miss Fisher. "Shall I wait for our third guest to arrive, miss, or do you ladies wish to start your meal immediately?" 

Miss Fisher clearly noticed the bolt of alarm that went through Rosie as she noticed the final set place, and understood where her mind went immediately. 

"Oh no, Mr Butler, I'm sure, as long as we save her some of those sandwiches, she'll forgive us." 

Rosie let out a, probably not as subtle as she had hoped, sigh of relief at the pronouns. Not jealous though she was, Rosie was not sure she could bear to sit through a lunch hosted by Miss Fisher and her ex husband. Especially not with the memories of those she had tried to host, her fruitless attempts to aid his advancement. 

Mr Butler nodded and stepped out, returning with plates of food as Miss Fisher turned her full, startling attention to Rosie. At least, Rosie noticed, Miss Fisher had her favourite sandwiches, ham, cheese and mustard pickle. 

"Now," she said, and Rosie braced herself, "usually when I'm having these luncheons I know more about the person I've invited. Either that or they are one of the unbearable high society people Aunt Prudence insists I must placate." 

Rosie almost let out a shocked laugh at that, her thoughts going back to her earlier musings about polite high society conversations, and she surprised herself with her own candidness. "I find I've rather gone off that kind of company myself, Miss- Phryne." 'Gone off' being accurate, but also rather a euphemism for 'been unceremoniously removed from'. 

"I thought you might have done," Miss Fisher smiled at her conspiratorially. "To be entirely honest," Rosie suspected she was rarely anything else, "I was rather surprised you kept that kind of company at all. You've always seemed to me to be a rather more interesting woman. Certainly your conversation was far more scintillating than most at that funeral." 

"I doubt many people attend funerals for the conversation." Rosie replied, wincing inwardly at the tension in her voice. 

"Perhaps not." Miss Fisher allowed with a wry smile, "Though I must admit I may have appreciated it less as a mourner and more as a detective during a murder investigation. As I said at the time, you're very intuitive, and I do like to have someone like that to talk to during these things. I had meant from then to seek you out in a setting, as you say, more appropriate to appreciate intelligent conversation." 

Rosie realised she had probably also latched on to her as a substitute for her usual partner in these things, who Rosie herself had warded away from the event. 

"I daresay I'm not one of the more interesting or extraordinary people you've encountered in your investigations," Rosie said dryly.

"Nonsense," Miss Fisher said brightly, "It takes a rather extraordinary woman to divorce someone. Trust me, I see far too few women being able to sensibly value their own happiness like that, especially in my cases.”

Rosie was more than a little taken aback at Miss Fisher's entirely blatant mention of her divorce. She had had the idea the woman was either avoiding the topic, or building up to mentioning it for full impact. But here she was talking about it, and she was, Rosie thought in astonishment, speaking seemingly without a hint of the judgement to which she had become accustomed. She, who clearly knew more than most what a good man she had left. She barely knew what to say as Miss Fisher watched attentively for her response. 

Just as the moment was becoming rather awkward, a young woman Rosie recognised as Miss Fisher's companion rushed into the room. 

"Miss," she said quickly, "I fixed up the leg of that stocking, and" she pulled out a small brown notebook, "I spoke to the woman who runs the shop from yesterday, she said-"

Here she seemed to register that her employer wasn't alone, looking quickly between her and Rosie, as if unsure whether to continue speaking. 

"Go on, don't worry Dot. How on earth did you get her to speak to you?" Miss Fisher encouraged, clearly eager to hear the information Dot had for her.

"Well miss, I told her I was writing an article about women in business," 

"Not for 'Women's Monthly' again, I hope?" Miss Fisher teased, clearly alluding to some moment Dot remembered, as she flushed and giggled slightly. Rosie raised her eyebrows slightly at the implications of that title.

"No, miss. I asked her about what kind of customers she got when in the day, and got her to tell me the times everyone came in and out yesterday." The way Dot relayed this information reminded Rosie startling of the way the constables would speak to Jack on those rare days where she had slipped in for lunch, hoping she could grab a happy moment with the element of surprise before it flitted away again. 

Miss Fisher seemed extremely pleased about this information. "Excellent work, Dot." Her expression turned playful, "Now, I do believe Mr Butler has prepared some extra over our lunch, that a certain constable might appreciate?" 

Rosie watched in astonishment as Dot blushed and smiled back, nodding quickly and heading back to the kitchen. 

Miss Fisher turned back to her, kind smile still on her face. Not only, it seems, did Miss Fisher delegate detective work to her staff, she appeared to be genuinely friends with the sweet girl. Rosie had met many eccentric rich people in her time, but Miss Fisher seemed to be one of the most so, not least in her rather shocking pleasantness.

"Her fiance," Miss Fisher said, looking back after the girl with familial fondness. She turned to Rosie and raised her glass. "Young love!" 

Rosie hated that just the word fiance from Miss Fisher's lips was enough to pull her back down from the charmed feelings of that little encounter. She knew she couldn't carry out this whole luncheon waiting for Miss Fisher to bring up one of the things she didn’t want to talk about. Whatever anyone said about her, Rosie was not one to cower in the face of difficulty. 

Miss Fisher seemed to suddenly realise what she had said, her face falling for a brief moment. 

"Rosie-" 

"Miss Fisher," Rosie interrupted her bluntly, relieved as her voice came out steady and firm. "I would rather you simply told me what it is you summoned me here for, or asked me whatever it is you needed to ask me, about whoever you need to ask me about. For the case or for your own…" Rosie lost her rhythm for a moment, "personal life. Whether you want to know about my father, Sidney or Jack. Now is not an excellent time and I'm not in any mood for empty pleasantries." 

"Rosie," Miss Fisher spoke softly, gently even. "I felt," she shifted slightly, the first time Rosie had seen her look anything less than supremely comfortable in herself. "I made rather an unfortunate impression on you when we met before. My talk about the funeral really wasn't empty pleasantry, and I was rather, well, rather ashamed at having ended on such animosity with a perfectly sensible and interesting woman. Especially seemingly over a man." On her last words her mouth turned up again in a humorous smile. "For goodness sake, I once persuaded one of my lovers into the arms of his fiance, who is now a dear friend of mine. I would never." 

Rosie decided to just… put aside that last sentence for now, and focus on the rest of what Miss Fisher had said. She had no doubt Miss Fisher was telling the truth, there was something refreshingly honest in her general air of graceful bluntness. But that didn't mean what she said was any less surprising. Earlier, Rosie had wondered which part of herself the invitation had been extended to, and this was her answer… somehow. None of them? All of them? 

"We can talk about terrible, criminal fathers, awful romances, and Jack Robinson if you would like. Heaven knows we both have plenty to say upon all three. But when we do, I was hoping it'd be in friendship. This invite was extended to you, not to some pathway to someone else. Besides" her smile crooked slightly "I tend to begin with something lighter on the first luncheon. I think those particular conversations might be best had over drinks." 

Rosie was at a loss for words, somewhere she, with her carefully rehearsed social graces, had rarely found herself. Miss Fisher was the most cheerful yet absolutely brutal destruction to these carefully planned situations she worked with, and it left her rather at a loss. She wondered, entirely without malice, how straight-laced Jack had become so accustomed to it. But she remembered the wry humour and wit she had fallen in love with before the war. Perhaps his fight wasn't all he got back.

Miss Fisher seemed unphased by the fact Rosie had yet to reply to her, and continued speaking. “Perhaps we should keep to less nebulous topics. I’m sure you have interests outside your relationships?” 

Here she looked at Rosie expectantly, and she knew she had to say something. But her mind was blank. It wasn’t that she had no life or personality as Miss Fisher put it ‘outside her relationships’ but she hadn’t realised how truly unaccustomed she was to talking about anything else. She was talking to a woman infamous for her extensive skill set, and Rosie didn’t feel inferior so much as at a loss for anything of interest. So she reverted to an almost defensive briskness, wincing at how she must come across in response to Miss Fisher’s friendliness. 

“I’m not sure I have any knowledge that would be to your interest, Miss Fisher.” 

Just as Miss Fisher was opening her mouth, clearly to brush that statement away, a head popped round the door. The parlour was clearly where one sought an audience with Phryne Fisher. 

"Miss Phryne?"

This time it was a young girl, her hair in plaits, clutching two large books. Rosie realised with a jolt she knew who this was, she remembered hearing the whispers about Mrs Stanley's scandalous niece adopting a pickpocket orphan ("and sending her to Warleigh Grammar" one lady had tutted "they'll take anyone these days. And so will the niece from what I've heard…"). Rosie herself had found it rather sweet, and had privately thought that from her own experience there, Warleigh Grammar could only be improved by a child who might appreciate the opportunity to attend. She did wonder briefly if a woman famous for her… adventurous nature, was a very stable home for a child, but, especially at that time, where she had just moved in with her sister, her confidence in the long term durability of a 'stable home' was not high. 

There had been a long time when she had simply assumed she and Jack would one day have children of their own. She'd never been the type of girl to dream of motherhood, but hadn't ever disliked the idea. She knew Jack was far more naturally inclined to parenting than she was, and before the war she had seen his wistful looks, and the joy with which he spoke of their future family. She wondered if Miss Fisher knew about that little part of him. She wondered if, whatever else it brought him, this little unconventional family, and this girl, was fulfilling that part of him. She hoped so. 

Miss Fisher beckoned the girl in. 

"What is it, dear?" She said kindly. 

The girl frowned slightly "You know I finished the work my class was doing a few days early?" Miss Fisher nodded, clearly Rosie had been right about Warleigh Grammar being the one to gain from this girl. "Well, I was reading some of the further books my teacher gave me for biology, about flowers, and I was wondering if you could help me understand one bit of it?" 

Miss Fisher made a face, "I'm afraid, Jane, many though my skills are, unless you're studying the effects of deadly poisons," at this point Rosie was more amused than shocked at Miss Fisher's attitude, "botany is not my forte. I'm afraid I'll have to leave you waiting until the doctor gets here." 

Rosie hesitated for a moment, watching as the girl nodded cheerfully and turned around to go. "Wait," she said quickly, "I'm no real expert, but I've done some reading on the subject. Perhaps I could help?" 

Jane looked to Miss Fisher quickly for approval, before hurrying eagerly to Rosie's side. To her relief, the page was on something she had studied herself, and she was able to quickly identify what it was the girl wanted to know, and explain it to her. For such a small help, she seemed overjoyed, and Rosie couldn't help smiling back as the girl grinned at her, before hurrying away, her head back inside her book.

"Don't read going up the stairs!" Miss Fisher called good naturally after the girl's retreating form. She turned back for Rosie. "I think you may have earned her undying loyalty." 

"Well that's someone at least," Rosie said wryly, her tongue loosened by the friendly atmosphere. 

"She"ll be scolding all those gossips back in line in no time," Miss Fisher laughed, and Rosie laughed with her. She had no trouble imagining the diminutive girl taking those air-headed men and women to task. 

"And," Miss Fisher added, just on the edge of smugness, "You quite clearly have at least one interesting topic to share." 

"I'm wasn't sure how interested you would be in discussions of botany, Miss Fisher." Rosie smiled, making an effort to soften her words so they didn't sound condescending. 

"Nonsense," Miss Fisher scoffed, waving the objection away, "If I didn't let people talk to me about things I don't know about I wouldn't be half such an interesting person afterwards." Her voice took on a slightly suggestive tone "Some of my best skills required another teacher." 

She laughed at Rosie's face at that last comment. "Dance teachers, of course. And besides that, the final member of our luncheon should be a far more knowledgeable conversation partner on the topic, when she arrives." 

As if on cue, there was a brisk knock at the door. Rosie heard Mr Butler go to answer it, greeting whoever had arrived, and directing them to the parlour.

"I'm sure I can find my way," a dry, but not unkind voice replied. Miss Fisher's face had brightened even further, clearly their final dinner guest was someone she was very fond of. 

As their final companion strode into the room (for that was the only way to describe the distinct way she walked, different yet, in attitude and surety, somehow so similar to Miss Fisher's confident sway) Rosie was embarrassed to admit to herself she stared for rather longer than was polite.

This woman was just as well dressed as Miss Fisher, and indeed was also wearing trousers, but the two outfits were otherwise incomparable. This woman was dressed far more in the style of clothing Rosie had always been rather fond of on Jack, a suit with a waistcoat, complete with a cravat, clearly in a men's style, yet fitted to the other woman just as carefully as Miss Fisher's own outfit was to her. It was a thoroughly unorthodox image, but Rosie couldn't help feeling immediately that, on this woman, anything else would have felt far more out of place.

"Mac!" Miss Fisher rose quickly to greet the other woman, who feigned, without much effort, exasperation at Miss Fisher's exuberance as she pressed a kiss to her cheek in greeting. 

"Hello darling," the woman said, rolling her eyes as Miss Fisher pulled out the final chair with a flourish in a parody of Mr Butler's courtesy. As she settled slightly sideways, she reached across to Miss Fisher's abandoned plate and grabbed for an untouched sandwich with the air of one entirely accustomed to doing this. Miss Fisher batted her hand away with the same practiced speed and an indignant noise. Rosie had to smile a little, reminded rather of Jack's appetite. 

Clearly Miss Fisher had had the same thought. "Honestly, you're worse than Jack," she tutted. 

"What?!" The other woman exclaimed, "I'm starving, I've been saving lives all morning."

"First of all," said Miss Fisher, "Mr Butler is just fetching yours from the kitchen. Secondly, that is utter nonsense, I know very well that you have spent the morning teaching at the university." 

"And you know very well that dealing with those 'bright young men" for a couple of hours makes me twice the hero." The other woman (Mac?) shuddered slightly and Miss Fisher nodded in apparent sympathy. “Though,” the woman continued as Mr Butler brought in what had been saved. “I did get to talk to Beatrice about the course I’d like to get her on, so that was something at least.” The woman nodded grateful at Mr Butler and grabbed her own sandwich this time. 

"Now Mac, if you'd like to remedy your rudeness in not greeting our final guest?" Miss Fisher nodded to Rosie unsubtly, and Mac seemed to notice her for the first time with a jolt, holding out her hand immediately with a friendly smile. 

"I apologise for Phryne's impoliteness in not introducing us immediately." Miss Fisher let out an indignant noise, and Rosie had to stifle a laugh at how these two professional women acted around one another. "Doctor Elizabeth Macmillan." 

"Call me Rosie," Rosie said, uncharacteristically shy in the face of this unusual woman. 

Miss Fisher looked between them, and a calculating look came into her eye. "Rosie and I were just discussing her study into botany, and I mentioned you would be better informed than me."

Dr Macmillan turned more fully towards Rosie, her head tilted in interest. Rosie felt a strange urge to duck her head away from the other woman's gaze, but brushed it away quickly. "Oh yes?"

"I told her you were quite the fan of flowers." Miss Fisher said with a sly look. 

Dr Macmillan muttered something into her teacups that sounded something like "...if you say violets"

"But I thought that you two might have some… mutually enjoyable conversation." Miss Fisher smiled innocently.

"I'm sure she can speak for herself, Phryne," Dr Macmillan said with exasperated fondness. 

Rosie finally spoke again, "It's not much…" she cleared her throat, disconcerted at the strange tone of her voice. "I never truly studied it, only as a hobby." 

"That's all my interest in botany has really ever been," Dr Macmillan waved her hand dismissively. "Despite what Phryne seems to believe, as she consults me on every kind of science, I am mostly an anatomist and doctor." 

Miss Fisher scoffed, "And have you failed me yet? You forget I've seen your personal book collection, you like finding out about the things I ask you." 

"I couldn't bear to disappoint." Dr Macmillan replied wryly, but the look in her eyes was truly fond as Miss Fisher preened slightly. She turned back to Rosie, flashing her a comforting smile. "But no, I'm certainly not one to be a snob about this, heaven knows far too few people actually feel the urge to go and find out more about something they're interested in. Inevitably makes them a more interesting person." 

Rosie was irresistibly reminded of Miss Fisher's earlier comments about her divorce. She could see why these women were friends. They were clearly both unusual, but in such a pleasant way. She would admit to not having an entirely nonjudgmental nature, and what surprised her about these women was how unpretentious and nonjudgmental they seemed to be, despite their clearly superior expertise. 

Any attempt to place Miss Fisher, or the newly arrived Dr Macmillan in any kind of category, even if that category was 'unusual' seemed futile. They were clearly unlike anyone she had encountered, while seeming to be quite ready to assume she was also just as interesting. She had stood at Miss Fisher, Phryne's door, feeling dowdy and traditional, a failure next to Phryne's glowing success. But as she sat in the parlour with these two other women, being increasingly drawn into a conversation where her input felt truly valuable, she thought back to Dottie and Jane and realised Phryne Fisher didn't only attract handsome young men. 

She could very easily be the kind of person who associates with people only so they can feel superior to someone, and be admired, and perhaps that’s what Rosie would have assumed was the case here if she hadn’t seen her interacting with these people herself. It was clear from her companionship with her maid, her pride in her ward, and her unselfconscious love and admiration for the doctor, all these very different women, that Phryne just genuinely cared for people, and drew in a wide circle of very different people because of it. 

Rosie hadn't realised that circle had begun to included her until it was too late… but as Phryne excused herself to the kitchens with a look at Dr Macmillan that Rosie didn’t quite catch, but that had the doctor rolling her eyes, before turning back to Rosie to laugh with her, she wasn't sure she minded being one of Phryne's people. 

Sitting around a table with two other, Rosie thought back to her earlier thoughts, 'scandalous' women, she relaxed, just imperceptibly. She didn't need to be taught she was her own person, independent of anyone else. She knew that. But after becoming accustomed to being compartmentalised by her associations with men… it was nice to be reminded that there were people out there besides herself that might appreciate her, Rosie Sanderson, with all her ambition and personality, to whom that surname belonged just as much as it did to her father.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love it if you let me know your thoughts if you enjoyed!


End file.
